Midnight at the Wandering Vineyard

by Jamie Raintree

  Her shoulders relax. “Thank you,” she says.

  “C’mon,” I say. “Let’s go get some wine now that we’re old enough to drink it.”

  Kelly laughs. “Let’s do it.”

  For the next couple of hours, we eat, drink wine, and dance. I pass Mom and Dad in an excited conversation with some friends of theirs from Chicago, people my parents call their best friends, but who I hardly know because of the distance between us. That’s what distance does to relationships, it seems, but I vow to be optimistic.

  I catch up with everyone else visiting from out of town and when they ask about my job, I try to inject as much enthusiasm into my responses as possible. Act as if, Sam once told me, and so I do. I act as if one day I will be proud of the accomplishments I’ve achieved, hoping one day soon I will be.

  When the clouds finally open up and the rain comes down, we all break into cheers and refill our wineglasses, sure it’s a sign from the gods of another great season. It’s too bad so many of us won’t be here to witness it.

  At the thought of Sam, I look around the room, surprised to realize I haven’t seen him all night.

  “Who are you looking for?” Kelly asks.

  I force my attention back to her. I don’t respond, but I don’t have to. She nods toward the office, where Sam is standing in the dark doorway. I can only see the outline of half his body, but when he sees me looking at him, he steps out into the light.

  I look to Kelly. For permission? Or validation? I’m not sure. She nods again, so I stand shakily and move through the people toward him. He meets me in the middle of the room, the middle of the dance floor, and holds a hand out to me.

  “Dance?” he asks.

  “I didn’t know you danced.”

  “Now you do.”

  Dancing seems like a risky act for someone who works so hard to appear perfect, but I allow him to pull me close, placing my hand on his shoulder. He slides his hand around my back, resting it on my hips. I’m stunned by the contact and how easily he shows it—here, in front of everyone. His cologne draws me nearer and I rest my chin on his shoulder, listening to the music, the rhythm of the rain on the roof, and his heartbeat.

  “What time do you leave?” he asks.

  “My flight leaves LAX at nine.”

  He nods.

  “What about you?” I ask. “When do you head home?”

  He shrugs. “Nothing is calling me home at the moment. Maybe I’ll stay a few more days. Relax.”

  A giggle escapes my lips. “What, create some to-do lists? Restructure one of the local businesses for fun?”

  He fails to suppress a grin. “Maybe you have some suggestions for me.”

  I consider it. “You could take a walk. Meandering through the vines could take you all day. Do you think you could manage being away from your phone for that long?”

  “If I had good company,” he says.

  I don’t think too deeply about his comment, whether he means me or if he’s merely making a general statement. “I’m sure Tyler would take you out for a ride if you were so inclined.”

  Sam barks a laugh. “I’m sure Tyler would rather see me under a horse than on top of one.”

  I shrug, but I can’t argue. My amusement at the prospect must be written all over my face.

  The song changes—another slow song—and Sam rotates us on the dance floor, giving me a different vantage point. I can see Kelly talking to Mom, Mom with her hand on Kelly’s back. Now that I know Shannon’s situation, I’m glad for their connection. Kelly is going to need it.

  “Well, maybe you can just do what you do best. Enjoy a cup of coffee on the porch at sunrise and a glass of wine at sunset. Maybe throw a book in there for good measure.”

  “That, I think I can handle,” he says.

  I pull my gaze away from Kelly and stare at the little curl at the nape of Sam’s neck, begging myself not to reach up and touch it.

  “Did you, um, ever hike those mountains in Colorado?” I finally ask. Realizing I had fallen for that particular delusion was the most humiliating moment of my life.

  Sam clears his throat, decidedly not meeting my eyes.

  “No,” he says. His neck flushes. I imagine it’s humiliating for him to admit he was deluding himself, too.

  When he finally looks at me again, his expression is deeply apologetic. For the millionth time since I’ve known him, I wish I knew what he was thinking. Something powerful lies beyond those dark eyes, and I’m never going to know what it is. For a long moment, I’m afraid he might kiss me in front of all these people and leave me thinking about him—ever the one that got away—for the next decade. But he glances away.

  “I hope you have a good life, Mallory. You’re one of the few people who sees the world not as it is but as it could be. That’s a special thing. Don’t waste it.”

  It’s the saddest goodbye I’ve ever heard, because it’s the only one I’ve received knowing we’ll never have a reason to see each other again.

  It’s the only goodbye Sam has ever given me.

  The music shifts again, to something upbeat, but I’m reluctant to let the moment end. No man has ever affected my heart the way he does. The pressure of his body against mine, the skin of his neck, his cheek so close to mine—it’s too sweet. But time won’t stop no matter how much I will it to.

  I take a step back and Sam’s fingers slip from my waist.

  “Don’t give up until you reach your dreams, Sam,” I say. “The real ones.”

  He smiles. “I won’t if you won’t.”

  He reaches his fingers out to me again but I turn away, back to Kelly. When I look back over my shoulder, Sam is gone.

  * * *

  The party shows no signs of stopping by the time I’m ready to head upstairs to get some sleep before my flight. Kelly, Tyler, and I huddle together underneath the overhang in front of the barn, hiding from the rain and the crisp night air to say our goodbyes.

  “Call me,” I tell Kelly, “whenever you’re ready.”

  “I will,” she says with tears in her eyes. I pray they’re tears of hope, rather than despondence.

  She pulls me into a tight hug and I squeeze her back. It’s so different from the hug she gave me when I first arrived—soft, sad, but genuine.

  “I love you,” I whisper, and even though she doesn’t say it back, it’s enough that I’ve gotten to say everything I came here to say.

  “God, I’m going to miss you,” Tyler tells me, taking his turn pulling me into a hug. I’m enveloped by his strong arms and his salty scent. I feel a distinct ache at saying goodbye to him. If there’s anyone here with whom I’ve left things unsaid, it’s Tyler. But how do I begin to tell him that The Wandering Vineyard won’t be the same without him? How do I tell him he’s the only man who has ever made me feel accepted exactly as I am? How can I convey that I equate him with Midnight, with air, with that sense of freedom I so strive for?

  “Go build your dream stables,” is all I can say. “I want to come visit.”

  “You’d better,” he says. “I mean it.”

  “So do I. I promise.”

  When I step back, we all stand there for a moment, none of us ready to face the inevitable. Kelly finally throws her hands up.

  “I’m going to go home. I’ve done all I can do for this party.”

  Tyler and I laugh.

  Kelly nods to Tyler, then walks off to the parking lot, ducking her head from the rain.

  “I’m going to go, too,” Tyler says, “but for less emotional reasons.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I ask. “For what reason?”

  “I have something in my eye.”

  I smile and share a final hug with him before he disappears into the night, waving over his shoulder to me as he goes.

  I stand there for a few minutes, taking it all in—the rain�
�s promise of new growth, the proximity to all the people I love, the happy noise of success behind me. This perfect night that I wish could go on forever.

  A light in the guest house catches my attention. I picture Sam in there, getting ready for bed. No doubt he came more prepared this time than the nights he half-heartedly and half-drunkenly slithered out of his clothes and fell into bed. I remember the electricity I felt on those nights, just being near him, the fire he set in my body.

  I traipse across the gravel in my heels, the light rain dampening my hair, the pace of my heartbeat quickening. I’m not a girl anymore, not a kiddo. And if Sam and I both ended up back here at the same time, it can’t be for no reason. I don’t intend to leave here without proving to Sam that I was never as naive as he wanted to paint me. I was never as naive as I pretended to be.

  I reach the guest house doorstep, take a deep breath, and knock.

  When Sam opens the door, his expression reveals surprise. His dress shirt is off, revealing his undershirt and strong shoulders that I once laid my head on. His hair is fallen down and he looks like my Sam—the one only I ever got to see.

  I step into his space, pressing my body against his, and with my hands on his cheeks, I pull his mouth to mine, showing Sam that when it came to him, I always knew exactly what I wanted.

  He doesn’t hesitate, not for a moment. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me closer, like he’s been waiting for this moment for as long as I have. Our lips and tongues search each other hungrily, begging each other to fill all the pieces of ourselves that have been empty for so long.

  “Why did you leave?” I ask against his mouth. My cheeks are wet and not because of the rain. “Why didn’t you say goodbye?”

  “I left because...” His breathing is heavy. “I was starting to feel too much for you.”

  “And you thought the best way to show that was to break my heart?” I ask, my voice reedy with emotion. Sam returned my feelings. It wasn’t all in my head. “You made me feel crazy,” I yell at him.

  I push myself away from him, wrapping my arms around my body. Sam steps back, holding the door open to invite me in, but I can’t cross the threshold. I can’t be in there with him. Sam clears his throat and steps out onto the porch instead. The rain drizzles off the roof, making the space feel smaller.

  “I know,” he says softly. “I was...completely irresponsible with you.”

  All the anger I’ve been trying to hold back, trying to deny, boils to the surface.

  “You were an asshole.” The word is satisfying between my teeth.

  Sam stands there with his hands at his sides, frozen like I’m a wild animal he’s afraid to spook.

  “I was. You’re right. But I was also heartbroken, Mallory. That’s why I came here. My two-year engagement had just ended and I needed to get away from her. From everything.”

  His confession knocks the wind out of me. Yet another thing he hid from me. And even worse, I never suspected it. It made me feel better to think I’d mostly figured him out, but I didn’t know anything and that realization makes me sick to my stomach. Who was it I was ready to run away with?

  “Oh, so you do have a heart?” I retort.

  “Ouch,” he says, and the bruised look on his face finally shakes me out of my belligerence. I always thought of Sam as unshakable, but I’ve seen a different side of him this week.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. I take a step closer and let my hands fall.

  Sam stares at me, and then, when I think I can’t take the silence any longer, he lifts a thumb to my cheek and brushes my hair away from my face.

  “I have a heart,” he says, and as soon as he does, I know I shouldn’t have come here. How can I let him go knowing I wasn’t crazy? Knowing that if things had been different, there could have been a chance for us? That if things were different now, there still could be?

  “Okay,” I say, when what I’m really thinking is, You’ve ruined me. No one will ever compare to you. “Okay,” I repeat, stepping away from him. Then I turn into the rain, leaving my heart in a puddle behind me.

  I slog up to my room and slip out of my damp dress, methodically hanging it back up in my closet, where it will stay until I return again. I charge my cell phone, check my boarding pass and ID, and then I slip into bed, staring up at the ceiling.

  Sam’s final declaration to me echoes in my head. I got the answers I wanted, however feeble.

  And yet his explanation only brought up more questions. A fiancée? Who? Did he love her? Was he really ready to commit to her? Was she as magazine perfect as him? Did he go back to her?

  I listen as the party dies down and cars start and pull out of the parking lot. I replay our kiss, knowing Sam is just outside, knowing he’s probably thinking of me, too. I force myself to stay in bed, to avoid making our parting worse. The light of the moon shifts from one side of my room to the other.

  I don’t know how much time has passed when my phone rings on the nightstand. Denise is already bringing me back into the fold. But when I pick it up, it’s Kelly’s name that flashes across the screen.

  “Hey,” I say quickly, sticky anxiety in my throat. “Are you okay?”

  Her response is a sob and at first I worry she’s having a harder time with my leaving than I thought. Or maybe she really can’t forgive me and she wants me to know this goodbye will be our last. But when she can finally breathe enough to speak, what she says is much, much worse.

  “I’m at the hospital,” she gasps. “I think she’s dead, Mal. I think my mom is dead.”

  FIFTEEN

  I race to the hospital in the middle of the night, not sure what time it is or exactly where I’m going. All the lights in the house were off when I burst out the back door and ran to the parking lot.

  The closest hospital is in Templeton, eight miles away, and the highway is dark and foreboding. Thankfully, the rain has stopped because I’m so anxious I can hardly see straight, the yellow lines blurring together. All I can think about is getting to Kelly as soon as possible and praying that what she said isn’t true. It can’t be true.

  When I get into Templeton, I follow the lights to the only building open at this hour and park in front of the emergency room. I run to the first nurse I see and yell, “Shannon Grayer,” at her breathlessly. She looks like she’s about to ask my relation when the doors that separate the lobby from the exam rooms whoosh open and Kelly stands between them, crying and broken.

  She collapses into my arms and I hold her there forever, tears stinging my eyes.

  Eventually, one of the nurses leads us back to the room where Shannon is. I peek in through the windows. A white sheet is pulled up to her chin and her eyes are closed so peacefully she could be sleeping. But there are no doctors, no monitors beeping. Only empty, deathly silence.

  I sit Kelly in one of the waiting room chairs and pull the nurse aside. She’s about my age; her brown, curly hair is frizzy like she’s been on shift for too many hours and her hair is begging for relief.

  “What happened?” I ask her, knowing it will be a while before I can get anything comprehensible out of Kelly.

  In a quiet voice, she says, “She had a heart attack at home. Her daughter brought her in and said she’d been complaining of chest pain and shortness of breath. Her records showed that she’d recently had a quadruple bypass and that she’d been suffering complications. We got her checked in and when the doctor came in to examine her, she had another heart attack. He tried to bring her back, and we got a rhythm a few times, but after the last time...”

  Kelly must have called me in the middle of all that. That must have been why she was unsure. It horrifies me to think of her standing there, watching through the window as her mom slipped away in such a painful and terrifying way.

  “What do we do now?” I ask.

  “We’ll need to take...her—” the body, I realize painfully �
�—to the morgue, and whoever is making the funeral arrangements can call homes in the morning. But if there’s anyone who wants to come pay their respects, we can keep her in the room for a while longer.”

  I look at Kelly, her torso folded in on itself, her face in her hands.

  “No,” I say. “There’s no one else.”

  “Then whenever she’s ready,” the nurse says. She places a comforting hand on my shoulder, the only thing she seems to know to do in this situation.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  She nods and walks away.

  I pause for a long moment, steeling myself to be the support Kelly needs right now. My time to grieve will be later.

  “C’mon, Kel,” I say, helping her up. “Let’s go be with your mom.”

  I pull two nearby chairs closer to the bed and for the next couple of hours, we sit there, arms draped over Shannon while Kelly cries until she has no tears left. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t open her eyes, just grasps the lingering presence of her mother’s spirit. Though I want to fall apart, too, I keep myself busy—getting Kelly drinks and tissues, brushing her hair away from her face, collecting paperwork. Kelly needs family to lean on and I’m now the only person for the job.

  Finally, when Kelly seems to have no energy left, I pull her from Shannon’s body, give a parting nod to the nurse. I lead Kelly out to my car and pour her into the passenger seat.

  By the time we reach the house, it’s five o’clock in the morning. For a brief moment, I realize I’m not going to make my flight, but that’s the least of my concerns. There’s no fathomable way I’m going back to New York today.

  I help Kelly up to my room, lay her down in my bed, and cover her up. As depleted as she is, she’s asleep before I can sneak out of the room.

  Dad is making coffee when I come downstairs. He’s surprised to see I’m still here, and it’s when I have to repeat the words myself—“Shannon died”—that I finally break down. He wraps me in his arms and we cry for Shannon, cry for Kelly, and cry for myself because I don’t know how to watch Kelly suffer like this, knowing there’s nothing in the world I can do to fix it.